


Four Times Sam Stole Flowers, and One Time He Didn't Have To

by impulsivedandelion



Category: Crashing (UK TV)
Genre: Fluff, Like, M/M, SUPER CHEESY, also i think this series is really under appreciated, based off a tumblr post, i think the end has a touch of angst?, just a pinch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsivedandelion/pseuds/impulsivedandelion
Summary: “You can take all the bloody flowers you want, but next time I want to see where they go. The girl better be pretty enough to warrant repeated flower theft.”





	1. Four Times

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is my first fic for this fandom, and only my second fic overall. comments are really, really appreciated. 
> 
> based off this tumblr post (i recommend not visiting the link until you've read the story, bcuz the prompt has spoilers!)

Fred heard Sam before seeing him. He was standing near a shelf in the corner of his room, his small flower bush sitting near his laptop, when he heard footsteps thudding down the hallway. He mentally braced himself, and, sure enough, five seconds later Sam was there, jumping on him, grabbing his butt in that way of his, and smiling.  
“What’s up, baby cakes? You busy?”  
“Yeah, actually. I was just— I was about to go to work.”  
“Ah, too bad. I was gonna do something fun today.”  
Fred looked at Sam. “Don’t get in trouble.”  
“What do you take me for? A reckless hooligan?”  
And after Fred’s nervous hesitation, Sam sighed, looked at Fred in that mischievous way of his, leaned in, and picked a flower from Fred’s potted plant. Before Fred could get over his beating heart, Sam slapped him on the arm and ran out the door, grinning like an idiot.

———

A few days later, when Fred returned from work, he noticed that another bloom from his plant was missing. The already small plant now only had three full flowers, and a few developing buds. Fred gently stroked a leaf and whispered “Who keeps stealing your flowers, Puppy?” And yes, he’d named the plant Puppy because he couldn’t name it Sam. He smiled and shook his head at his pathetic unrequited crush on a straight, hilarious asshole.  
When he walked into the dining area, everyone was sitting around the table already. So he asked a general question “Did anyone take one of my flowers?” He got no answer, but he noticed Sam hadn’t made eye contact.  
“Sam.”  
Sam’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at Fred with wide eyes. “No,” he answered too quickly.  
Fred sighed and rolled his eyes. “Look, mate, I only have three blooms left, it’s gonna take a while for the rest to flo—“  
“Hey sweetheart, don’t call me mate.”

———

The next time, Fred was prepared. He stayed in his room all day, diligently keeping an eye on Puppy. His desk lamp cast a faint warm glow over the rest of the room. He waited there, working and sitting for so long that by the time Sam did come he was so tired he barely processed it.  
Sam opened the door just a creak and stepped inside. Fred stood up so abruptly that his chair hit the floor with a loud crash, causing both of them to flinch. After they both recovered, Sam stood on his tiptoes and sashayed the short distance to the desk, gracefully gliding around Fred. But Fred grabbed the flowerpot before Sam could get to it. And before either of them knew what was happening, they were full out wrestling, Fred trying desperately to keep the flower pot out of reach without damaging it, and Sam trying to reach over Fred without falling over.  
But then they did. Fall over. Sam leaned too far over Fred, who tripped over the chair. Fred landed on the ground with a painful thump, and Sam’s legs were bent in an awkward position. They lay sprawled there, recovering for what seemed like too-long seconds, before Sam finally spoke.  
“Just give me a bloody flower. Please.”  
“A-alright.” Because how was Fred supposed to say no when Sam was right there?

———

It wasn’t until two days later that Fred actually began to wonder what Sam needed the flowers for. They had just finished watching a rom-com. The credits were rolling, and Fred was trying not to be too obvious in staring at Sam’s face, the light from the laptop reflected on his skin. His gaze kept flicking back and forth, until he realized that Sam was staring at him.  
Fred swallowed nervously, unsure of what to do or say. But then Sam broke the silence without breaking eye contact.  
“I think I’ll take another flower.”  
Fred closed his eyes and sighed. He dejectedly let his head fall back onto his pillow. “What do you even do with those flowers, anyway?”  
“Um, I give them to someone, obviously?” Sam shifted slightly. “I mean,” he slid off the bed, “I think they’re pretty.” He stood up and walked over to the desk. Before he broke off the bud, he looked over his shoulder at Fred, who had now opened his eyes but still looked like a floppy bean on the pillow. “So can I take this one, please?”  
Fred sat up straighter. This was the first time Sam was actually asking him. He could say no. But why? It’s not like he felt jealous or anything. If Sam wanted to steal his flowers to give to someone else, it was none of his business. But then it hit him— it wasn’t about who Sam gave the flowers to. They were his fucking flowers, and Sam was stealing them. But technically he wasn’t stealing them this time. He was asking.  
So Fred said “You can take all the bloody flowers you want, but next time I want to see where they go. The girl better be pretty enough to warrant repeated flower theft.”  
Sam took the flower without acknowledging Fred’s comment, leaving Fred with the strange and unsettling feeling that he’d done something wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Fred woke up to someone’s finger gently tickling his nose. He fidgeted, caught between sleep and wake, before he finally opened his eyes and saw Sam’s face literally inches from his own. His eyes opened wider, but he was too tired to actually put effort into being shocked, so he rolled over and nestled back into the sleep-warmed bed, pulling the covers over his head. But Sam was quicker, and pulled the blankets down and off the bed, leaving Fred cold and exposed in his pajamas. Accepting defeat, Fred sat up and rubbed his eyes. The clock read 2:47 in the morning. He glared at Sam, trying to be upset, but then Sam reached behind him and presented a coffee. Well, two parts coffee one part hot chocolate, with a drizzle of caramel and a shit-ton of whipped cream. 

But when Fred reached out to grab it, Sam moved it just out of reach. 

“You can have the heavenly drink after you’ve brushed your teeth and put on some proper clothes. We’re delivering flowers.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Sam. I have work tomor— today.”

“No, you don’t. I sent your boss an email. You’re sick.”

“Sam, you can’t just email my boss and—“

“Do you wan’t the coffee or not?”

Fred scanned Sam’s face, trying to read his expression. Sam’s eyes were large, hopeful. God, those puppy dog eyes were Fred’s weakness. 

So Fred sighed and went to the bathroom, but not before tripping over a chair.

 

When Fred came back, he was dressed in a blue plaid button-down shirt and khakis. Sam was already standing, holding out the coffee. Fred took it, and Sam grabbed the flower pot and a jacket off Fred’s desk. 

Fred didn’t bother asking Sam where they were going— the whole thing was too cryptic. Normally, he would have, but this was a special circumstance. It’s not every day that your crush wakes you up at three in the morning to deliver flowers to an unknown character. 

———

They took the underground in silence. Well, the most amount of silence one could get around Sam. Fred’s heart was racing the entire time. The harsh light of their car cast eerie shadows everywhere, but Sam insisted on grabbing a pole and swinging his body around it so quickly that Fred thought he might drop the flower pot. Actually, he almost did, but Fred screeched like a velociraptor and Sam caught it just before it hit the ground. After that, Sam just sat on one of the many empty seats and put his feet up. When he noticed Fred staring at him, he said “What, babycakes? Want to sit on my lap?”

At which Fred had to take a flustered moment to decide whether or not Sam was joking. By the time he decided (that Sam was, in fact, joking), Sam had already popped out of his seat and nudged Fred with his shoulder. “This is our stop, baby.” Fred had to grip a handrail to keep from falling over before going after Sam.

 

Fred followed Sam to a beautiful park. A gently winding dirt path made its way through what seemed like an endless meadow of grass. Trees and flowers speckled the landscape, and Fred could hear the faint trickle of running water somewhere not too far in the distance. The sun was just beginning to rise, its first rays casting a soft golden light over the world.

Having long since discarded his coffee cup, Fred shoved his hands into his pocket and glanced at Sam. He shivered as he inhaled the crisp morning air. He wanted desperately to ask what they were doing, where they were going at 3:30 in the morning, but he didn’t want to shatter the strange calmness over Sam, who now seemed to be in his own world. 

 

Fred thought the most intriguing thing about this whole experience was Sam’s silent expression. Sam, who was always so energetic and talkative and teasing and flirty and anything but brooding and mysterious. Fred would have been less worried and curious if Sam were acting half-drunk, or crazy. Anything but this— this small sliver of the universe where Sam was completely unreadable and emotionless. But perhaps that Fred was unable to read him was in itself an emotion. Fred was so busy noticing the silence that he almost didn’t notice when Sam decided they had reached their stop.

Fred almost crashed into Sam, stopping just short of accidentally tipping both of them into the lake in front of them. If one could even call it a lake. It was more of a pond. And a small one, at that. But it was big enough that the water was flowing, and a few ducks quacked off to one side. 

 

Sam looked at Fred, his eyes wide and nervous. If Fred didn’t know better, he might say that Sam looked like he was about to cry. But then Sam kneeled on the ground, put the flower pot on the soft grass in front of them, and sat down, crossing his legs. And when he tugged on the leg of Fred’s khakis asking him to sit down next to him, Fred obliged, although more quietly than usual. 

There was something calm and mysterious about the atmosphere, it was quiet, but it was the loud kind of silence that you feel wrong breaking. Fred looked at Sam. They were so close, their shoulders were pressed against each other, and Fred was nervous. Here they were, in such a huge, familiar space at such an unfamiliar time. They could be anywhere else, but here they were, pressed against each other and sitting with their legs crossed on the floor like two children waiting for their teacher to say something. 

And then Sam cleared his throat. “Hi, Dad.” Fred startled, tensing up. He stared at Sam, wordlessly asking for an explanation, but Sam ignored him. His eyes were still fixed somewhere on the horizon, his hands tight on Fred’s flowerpot. “This is Fred. You know, the one I was telling you about.”


End file.
